The Search for I
by iD3
Summary: After a run in with his biological counterpart, a robotic warrior reevaluates his life. As he grapples with the changes inside him he finds many things, and loses the things that once made him whole.
1. Chapter I: And Embers Rise

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear or its associated characters.

**The Search for I**

_by iD3_

Chapter I: And Embers Rise

He was dead. At least that was what he had been told. He was lost, darkness enveloped him and silence consumed him. "Emergency-reboot-complete. Primary-systems-operational. Restoring-secondary-functions," one by one his senses began to return. He heard the dull whizzing and churning of his innermost functions. "Processing... Processing...Processing..." A small, metallic voice rang out from inside him.

"Restoration-incomplete-secondary-systems-operating-at-seventyfour-percent. Rerouting-optical-functions." Suddenly he could see. Everything was dim and blurry at first but as his vision focused, bits of the shattered terrain jumped out at him. Snow lightly dusted the skeleton corpses of shattered buildings and, as he looked down he found himself in a similar state of disrepair. Although his right leg was intact his left was shattered just above the knee, the lower half askew at an odd angle.

"Restoring-trinary-functions," it seemed strange to the iron warrior that this diagnostic-voice, although of himself, sounded subtly different. Its tone, pitch and timbre slightly askew, speaking in a small, brassy voice. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Perhaps it was a result of battle damage?

His right arm was completely missing, shoulder and all, splurging various oils and hydraulic fluids. The sight of the gaping wound alarmed the construct prompting him to touch the oozing wound with his free, undamaged arm. The fluids coated his metallic fingers in inky shades of blacks, blues and greens.

It was in that moment he spotted the reason for his untimely deactivation, the shattered blade of his old weapon. The imitation Thunder seal pinned the clockwork-man to the dull concrete against which he was leaned. "Trinary-functions-restored. Damage-assessment-complete. Operating-at-thirty four-percent-unit-capacity." It seemed strange that he had not noticed the pronounced weapon before but it was, in the end, unimportant. Wasting no time, he wrapped his fingers around the shattered blade and began to draw it from his body. Steely components screeched and whined as the blade made its slow exit from his organs. Although his steel features were immutable he inwardly frowned. His opponent had made sure the makeshift Thunder seal would never see battle again.

"Initializing-metal-base-regeneration-process," chimed the small voice. Although he felt no pain, no fatigue, nor any of the thousand other natural shocks that flesh is heir to he had to heal. He needed to rest, he needed to recharge. This was something he could not do out in the open, he was too vulnerable here. Without a leg, however, his mobility was limited.

Using a combination of his good leg and good arm the wounded construct flopped himself face first into the frozen earth and started to crawl. Needing a temporary leg the metal man gathered components, bits of pipe, metal binding straps, loose bolts and screws he tore from broken hinges and busted doors. As he gathered materials he noticed his missing arm laying several feet away, its cool fingers breaking the surface of the snow. As he retrieved the severed limb he took stock of his growing collection of bits and bolts.

Judging himself to have the appropriate components he began to form the parts using his free arm. Bending pipe, fastening screws, and pinching together odd discarded pieces of metal. He made quick with his work, using unnatural strength and unerring precision to fasten together a make shift crutch.

Severed arm in hand, he proceeded to carefully right himself, using the crutch as support while his good leg carefully pushed himself up into the correct position. Once situated, the clockwork-man took a few measured steps on his makeshift appendage. After several attempts to find the optimal stride and handle for the new limb he returned to his original place of rest.

The strange creature's eyes faintly glowed in the fading light as he eyed the severed leg. Snow had begun to fall and he decided that if he was to retrieve the limb and its shattered components now would be the time. The mechanical man lowered himself to his knees and tore away the extra fabric where the damaged leg had been. He carefully laid out the beaten pant leg like a blanket and began sifting through the snow for the missing pieces. It wasn't long before he had gathered up everything of use. Much of it was crushed beyond repair.

He then proceeded to wrap the damaged limbs and extra parts in the shredded cloth and, using some extra scraps of sheet metal nearby, fashioned the broken garment into a backpack of sorts, bending a metal strap to clamp over his undamaged shoulder.

Now the only question was, where to next? Last he checked he was in northern Germany, and the android was positive he hadn't been moved after the battle. He estimated Hamburg was the closest city to his current location. He would need to be careful. In his current state even the most mundane of people's could be a danger. This was a chance the automaton had to take as he needed the raw materials and time to make more suitable repairs.

Pack in place, and parts retrieved the metal man started off, slow at first, hobbling uncertainly under the extra weight. Slowly, the broken android faded into the snow.

He recorded a 3 day, 11 hour and 17 minute long journey by the time he reached Hamburg. Modern Hamburg, like the rest of the world, was a product of the Crusades. The Holy War ravaged the city, as the Holy Order made their stand against Justice's forces time and time again. Eventually, however, the city was abandoned roughly thirty years into the conflict. The Holy Order did not return to the shattered metropolis until after the end of the Crusades. Although humans once again inhabited the city, Hamburg would never return to its former glory, most choosing to resettle in the capital, Berlin. The few who did return chose to settle on the fringes of the city instead of attempting to deal with unwieldy reconstruction. As such much of the city was left uninhabited and instead a new town was born around the old ruins.

Luckily the battered android had approached Hamburg from the old side of town and, as such entered without detection. Not wishing to deal with any of the town's wandering inhabitants; he quickly made his way into a large brick building. Although the immense structure had seen its share of action it was still structurally sound and would serve its new occupant's purpose. White light filtered through the few remaining window panes, the dirty glass casting a dull glow over the old building. This place confused the mechanical man. What purpose did it serve? Row after row of long wooden benches lined the inside of the building, immense, vaulted windows on either wall. At the front of the structure was an altar although anything of value had long since been destroyed or stripped from the barren framework. The clockwork-man seated himself near the center aisle on one of the benches, lowering himself carefully. The bench creaked and strained under his immense weight. As he shifted his weight to shoulder the crutch, the wooden seat gave out a sorrowful moan. He noticed that his temporarily limb was also starting to deform under the immense strain of his metallic body. A quick survey of the other buildings had revealed some useful scraps of metal that he could use for field repairs but nothing that he could reattach a leg with. Before he left he'd have to reinforce the support.

"Metal-base-regeneration-process-commencing-in-ten-minutes. Full-systems-shutdown-advised," the small, almost alien voice whispered in his mind. Before he shut down, however, the android needed to reattach his arm.

Unlike his predecessors, he had been designed with a prototype form of metal base regeneration. MBR effectively allows internal components to heal by themselves. The process of metal base regeneration is triggered by a low surge of electrical current which causes a specially designed alloy to, in effect, regenerate and repair damage to internal systems. Although this process is only seventeen percent more efficient than its human counterpart the system has proved a positive boon to combat series robots. The nature of MBR compliant alloys however makes them more fragile then other existing metals for this reason only the android's internal components are made of such materials.

Removing his makeshift pack, the mechanical man set about the process of reattaching his severed arm. Although it wouldn't be operable for some time it was necessary to reattach the limb before he began to regenerate. By pinning the severed appendage between the back of the bench and his body, the construct was able to effectively rivet the arm in place with a few salvaged bolts, door hinges and various pieces of scrap metal.

As he settled back his thoughts seemed clearer, as if uncluttered by the thousand processes running inside him. It seemed strange that this place of busted brick and broken glass could confer on him, such clarity of mind. The more he thought about it, however the more it confounded him. There was something churning inside him, something the droid couldn't explain.

It hadn't been this way before. Suddenly his mind was boiling with questions he'd never asked before. Questions he couldn't answer. What had happened? He had been designed to imitate life. To imitate that one man but he had failed? Now what, why did he still exist? Why was he here, in this place? The more he thought about it, the more he ran himself in circles, his robotic brain meticulously attempting to isolate abstract variables. "Metal-base-regeneration-commencing. All-systems-shutting-down," the emotionless voice taunted him. There was something about it... What was it?

As the broken android drifted into darkness the realization dawned on him. That man had done something to him. That man had diverted him from his course. That man had taken everything he was, but given him something he couldn't understand. He realized that on that day, everything had changed...

Author's Note: This is my first fanfic and yes, it is a Robo-Ky fic. I apologize as the first few chapters may be pretty dry but I felt it was necessary to develop the character. I don't have a beta reader so if you see anything weird please feel free to point it out to me so I can fix it.

There will be other, non-robotic characters in this fic but not for a few chapters so be patient. The title of the story as well as all chapter subtitles are song titles. 'The Search for I' comes from the song 'In Search for I' by the band In Flames. 'And Embers Rise' comes from the song of the same name by Killswitch Engaged.

If anyone is interested in beta reading upcoming chapters feel free to contact me at if you want to read one that doesn't obligate you to any further readings however. As soon as I finish proof reading the next couple chapters I'll put them up as soon as possible. Thanks for stopping by.

-iD3


	2. Chapter II: The Quiet Place

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear or its associated characters.

Chapter II: The Quiet Place

His inner workings hummed as the lone mechanical man's systems restarted. "Active-virtual-restructuring-complete," the small, grating voice inside him chimed, signaling the end of his subconscious attempt to determine the full state of his damage. This process took into account both mechanical errors and anything that might have been skewed within his mind. He was convinced that the odd occurrences, breaks in his behavior patterns and abnormal thought processes were a result of battle damage. He'd attributed these symptoms to a short that had probably occurred when his counterpart's weapon had caused an electrical surge in his positronic brain.

His dim eyes refocused, whirring back and forth as the backlit lenses adjusted. It was the pitch black of night and, from what he could gather, he was still alone.

Had anybody been looking at the iron man they would have sworn he was a statue. Inside, however, the inner machinations of his mind churned with life. Something had happened in his pseudo-sleep. When he checked, however, his system log was strangely empty. The only thing that registered was the low electrical field used in the process of regeneration. The battered droid recalled, quiet distinctly, his mind being invaded by images of his other. Some how that man had found his way into the android's artificial sleep.

His inner temperature rose several degrees as his mind ticked away, attempting to discover how the man had manifested himself while he was deactivated. The more he searched, however, the more confused he became. Pressurized steam hissed out of his forehead as he vented heat into the air around him.

The automaton felt something inside him. It was a small phenomenon but it starkly contrasted anything he had experienced before. It was like a stifling confusion that cluttered his thoughts and prevented rational thought. It seemed that he experienced this sensation whenever he thought about the fair haired knight who had defeated him.

The broken warrior believed that human's experienced something familiar to this. It was called frustration. He frowned inwardly and made it a point to attempt to quash these odd sensations and return to his former ways. He didn't like the way that man made him feel and although it was a far shadow from true human emotion, it drew the imitation man one step closer to his biological counterpart.

In front of him, in a little alcove in the back of the bench there was a dusty old book. The automaton leaned forward, his interest piqued by the small object. As he reached out the bench wailed in disapproval.

It was a leather bound tome, covered in dust and dirt which, as he lifted it free, scattered into the air in a puff of smoke. He placed the book in his lap and wiped away the dirt and grime that obscured the cover to reveal two words, Holy Bible.

To a person who knew nothing of real world societies this book seemed both confusing and insignificant. So it was curious when the clockwork-man pushed open the cover. As he slowly leafed through the first few pages of the text he felt an increasing urgency to continue. It seemed as if some unknown hunger within him could be satiated if he only knew what the book contained. "Genesis," he read, the print worn and faded. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

Just then, on the verge of continuance, his concentration was jarred. Only moments earlier he had made a pact to end the flaw which plagued his system. He had sworn to quash the error which that man had embedded in his soul. He needed to repair himself, to make whole the machine which once was. If memory served, however, this holy book represented, in effect, all that he wished to kill within himself. It represented the flaw which that man had engraved on his heart with a steel blade. With that he closed the cover of the dusty tome.

The mechanical man went as still as death. In the second he closed the cover of the book he thought he had heard something. The crash of debris or the falling of footsteps... What was it? For a moment he sat completely still, not daring to move. Again, a murmur... a shadow of a whisper. Something just beyond the range of his sight, just beyond the perception of his ears. But what was it?

He sat that way for a long time minutes ticking away as he waited for the strange beast to reveal itself. Nothing. There was nothing. After sweeping the area one more time, he was convinced that there was nothing in the shadows watching him. What was it then, he wondered, that he so disturbed him?"Commencing-additional-systems-defragmentation," the small steely voice chimed in. He looked down, the silver lettering of the Bible drawing his attention. As the droid stared at the tome his mind wandered, wandering back to that man.

That man mocked his existence in all things. The knight's blond hair was more vivid than his own. His posture was more proud than the iron man's stiff stance. His stride was more regal than his own mechanical gate. The proud warrior's features were more determined than his own immutable, unfeeling features. And his eyes... How the iron man remembered those eyes. He had seen something in those eyes. Off hand the android wondered if that was the moment things had gone wrong.

Was it through that stiff gaze he had flawed the droid? Those final moments were engraved in his mind.

The man had simply stood there, towering over the broken automaton, staring. He was transfixed by those vivid, crystalline eyes. How wise, how proud they were. How wondrous, and yet how terrible they were. He had seen so many things in those eyes. Even as the man had stood over the broken mannequin he seemed like a god amongst men. He was so defiant, so proud, so... alive.

Why couldn't he put the stoic knight behind him he wondered. At first the clockwork-warrior thought that perhaps this was normal behavior for his unit series.

It seemed only logical that, after such a sound defeat, he should analyze every possible aspect of his opponent in the process of readying himself for their next encounter. The android decided this sufficiently explained his fixation on the organic warrior. It took into account the majority of factors leading up to the event and accounted for many of the symptoms he was experiencing. Yet as the minutes ticked away he became less and less satisfied with his final result.

His explanation did, for example, not take into account his strange fixation with man's eyes. 'Optical organs,' the Druid ticked away, 'allows a biological unit to use contrasts in light frequency, wavelength, and intensity to more thoroughly understand his surroundings.' But if that truly was the only function of eyes then what had he seen when that man stood over him? The stoic Droid was unable to comprehend just what he had seen.

Then he heard it again, that same shadowy murmur. The android snapped his head about trying to locate its source. The low wailing seemed to come from everywhere at once and yet originated from nowhere at all. It struck him as odd that, although he heard the sound, his ears did not register it.

The longer he sat there, the more the shadowy figures grated on his sanity. It was like a massive pressure building in the back of his head. The clockwork-man felt that, should he ignore the dark voices, they would swallow him whole, consuming the very essence of his existence.

In an attempt to shake off the latent specters he stood, rather abruptly, and took up his crutch. He hobbled outside, making his way about the ruins of Hamburg as the pressure in his mind grew. Dust and rubble scattered as the automaton moved. Although he wasn't aware of it, his movements were becoming increasingly violent.

He heard something in the distance. Instantly he froze, listening to the quaint noises. They were voices and they were coming closer. The limping robot made his way to the nearest cover and hid there, carefully positioning himself opposite from the voices.

They were closing in now. He took stock of his options. If discovered he would have little in the way of options. It was unlikely he could talk a potential aggressor down or calm a surprised civilian.

They were so close now and he knew, if he stayed here, they would find him. He glanced about quickly and realized there was no cover to retreat to. He had picked his hiding spot poorly. Having no other options the iron man waited silently as the voices approached. He should have stayed in the church. He shouldn't have come here. He would have to defend himself.

The phantom specter's call grew ever louder, excited by the prospect of bloodshed. Their flesh-curdling wails grew into a cacophony crowding out coherent thought.

Just as he readied himself for battle, however, his would-be assailants started back. The iron warrior listened closely as the diminishing voices faded off into the snow. Confident that he was again alone, the automaton made quick time back to his temporary place of residence and reseated himself.

The clockwork-man leaned forward, grasping his head with one hand. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Had the humans come upon him the android wasn't sure he could have fought them off. This wasn't due to his pitiful physical status but something that boiled inside him at the thought of killing.

Again, his thoughts drifted back to the day he had finally confronted that man. Was this how the young knight felt when he raised his sword against another? The automaton was certain that this is not how the warrior had felt during their fight. He remembered his steely words.

"You… how could you," his voice had shaken, seething with hate. "You killed them all. You don't live and yet you take life without a second thought." Although the man had faced his back, he could imagine the knight, amidst the broken bodies of the innocent, filled with terrible fury.

At the time he had felt nothing at the man's words. They had seemed impractical to the emotionless creature, they meant nothing to him on any level and yet the man had delivered them with such conviction. It was as if he thought that those simple words would undo all that the iron warrior had done.

Now, they struck him deeper than any arrow, cut deeper than any sword, burned his body more than any fire. The clockwork-man didn't understand what was happening to him. Killing was a part of his existence yet now his indifference to the taking of life was quickly fading.

And for a long time he stayed that way, consumed in thought. For all his pondering, however, the clockwork-man could not comprehend what had happened, where he had gone wrong. And for a long time that man vexed him.

Author's Note: Another semi-dreary chapter sorry guys. In any event I'll hopefully make things a bit more exciting after he meets some new people in the next chapter.

Originally I had planned Robo-Ky to confront and kill his would-be assailants. It would later turn out that he had killed a child and that this would later haunt him. Given what I'd already planned however, it didn't seem to add that much to the story.

As I said I'll be introducing another character in the next chapter. Originally he meets this character, has a quick stand-off and then runs off not to see that person again for several chapters. I'm wondering, however, if perhaps I should rewrite the next few chapters and change that to pick up the pace and change the story a bit.

Some of you have probably noticed my obscene use of pronouns when referring to our robotic companion who does not, as of yet, have a name. I wanted to try and secure the idea that although he is changing, he is still a robot and has a very limited sense of personal existence. As such, I felt very generic pronouns were a good way to generate that feeling.

I also don't like the term Robo-Ky. It's fine for the game, and I think it would be an appropriate slang term used by the local populace but I have a tough time seeing it being the PWAB's official identification for the robots.

It also seems too relaxed and informal a title for a robot to refer to himself as. As such our mechanical friend has a good ol' fashioned serial number which I haven't introduced yet for multiple reasons.

First, it's too cumbersome for me to use when referring to our main character, and second, since he hasn't interacted with other characters it's difficult to bring up the subject of an official name or ID.

All and all he will be named, although maybe not until Chapter IV at the earliest.

The chapter title 'The Quiet Place' comes from a song of the same name by the band In Flames.

-iD3


	3. Chapter III: Engel

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear or its associated characters.

Chapter III: Engel

For the first time in his life the robot had little or no concept of the time that had passed. He sat there, in deep contemplation for a long time, seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. As he sat there, he began to change until, one day, realization came upon him.

The terrible force of the epiphany hit him full force, causing his body to shake violently. That man, Ky Kiske, he had taken the automaton's purpose in life. Now what, he wondered, his inner functions humming softly in the cool air. That explained a great many things but not everything. Why was he shaking so? What was this terrible sensation he felt?

He leaned forward, hand buried in his platinum hair. The phantoms in his mind began their assault. At first their voices were faded and low, but before long they grew into a terrible cacophony blurring out all reasonable thought.

It was in this moment, doubled over, and darkness all around him that he knew why they pleaded so. They were pleading with him. They were begging him for mercy. They were screaming as he slaughtered them.

He suddenly fell into a fit of mechanic sobs. At first they were precise and measured, but they quickly became discordant and wailing. The tormented automaton was over swept in a fit of insanity, his head hung low, crying out in pain.

That man had taken away his purpose for living. The steel construct had no friends, no family, no responsibilities and no legacy to fulfill. Ky had taken everything from him and dashed it away. The clockwork-man had given up everything to complete his mission. He had bartered away any trace of humanity he may have had. He had forsaken the mortal world in favor of cold, cruel steel. The automaton had done many terrible things, committed numerous atrocities in the name of completing his set task. Now that he had failed, now that he was without purpose his terrible past hollowed him out.

The clockwork-man was jarred from his thoughts as something to his left moved. The wailing automaton went silent, his eyes snapping to attention. There was someone in the shadows, a girl. She looked as though in her late teens, early twenties and for a long moment neither said anything, their eyes locked, red meeting blue. Then, her courage mounting, she took a slight step out from the darkness and further into the light.

That was when he saw it. She had a tail, long and black, a small bow tied neatly near its tip. The iron warrior recognized her immediately.

_'Dizzy,'_ he recalled, drawing from his vast memory. _'Command Gear. Estimated date of birth : age, December 25 : 4 at time of activation.'_ The android realized, however, he had been active a little over two years since the time of entry. _'Half gear, half human, rumored to be the biological offspring of Justice. Thought dead, although unconfirmed as the individual who claimed the bounty failed to provide sufficient proof when further investigated. Subject is extremely powerful, extremely dangerous, treat with extreme care. Although the Command Gear 'Dizzy' is claimed dead her capture, if alive, hold priority over your Target.'_

More and more information whizzed through his mind as he stared, into her eyes. There was something about her. The clockwork-man found his mind blank, devoid of thought or reason. Something about her eyes calmed him and the demons in his mind began to fade into nothingness.

Slowly, he reattached his makeshift pack and stood, his crutch holding the damaged man upright. His concentration was broken as another figure entered on the Gear's left. He had heard her before he had seen her. The girl in orange had, unlike the winged gear, made no attempt at concealment.

How long had Dizzy been watching the android wondered? How much had she seen?

"Is that you Ky?" the girl in orange cried in surprise. Her eyes squinted as she gazed across the vast darkness. "No," she murmured seeing the odd condition of the creature in front of her.

Dizzy continued staring, a look of utter confusion and perhaps slight curiosity etched on her face. The other girl, _'May,'_ he recalled. _'Japanese. Date of birth : age. Unknown. Confirmed member of the organization known as the Jellyfish-Pirates. May is close with Johnny, the pirate leader. It is believed that these two have had past dealings with the Target, Ky Kiske. For what purpose however, is unknown. Although May is a skilled fighter, her Japanese ancestry and past dealing with Kiske are of greater concern.'_

As his positronic brain ticked off information the prototype mechanical man suddenly realized the gravity of his current situation. He was no match for the orange pirate let alone the fledgling Gear. If he was careful, the crippled warrior reasoned, he could deal with the loud-mouthed pirate. Her techniques, although powerful, lacked precision and subtlety, two things that he could use against her.

The half Gear, however, he began to realize, was far out his league. Even if he managed to restrain Dizzy or somehow gain a tactical advantage she would simply overwhelm him. The iron warrior realized he was no match for her at full capacity, in his current state he wouldn't even be able to fight back. She was going to destroy him.

The automaton began backing away slowly as panic began to overtake him.

"You're not Ky," the boisterous pirate-girl shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him, "careful Dizzy! I've seen these things before," she warned, "we gotta get rid of it!"

The half Gear looked questioningly at her young friend.

"Oh no you don't," May yelled as the panicking imitation attempted to flee. She charged full speed at the crippled warrior and leapt into the air. She easily cleared the tops of the benches and quickly closed the space between her and the fleeing automaton.

As she came down on top of him he threw his makeshift crutch forward, hitting May in the shoulder causing her to rotate at an odd angle, foiling her attack. As May tumbled towards the automaton he threw his arm forward, striking the young Japanese girl in the throat.

For a moment it seemed like the two stood still, May's small body attempting to continue forward despite the robot's firm grasp.

"May!" Dizzy screamed. The two fell to the ground as the young pirate's moment overwhelmed the legless droid.

Dizzy rushed around the benches to find her friend in the steely grasp of the robotic Ky. "Stop," it yelled, "If you come any closer, I will be forced to end your friend." His voice seemed so strange. It was almost as if a small hint of panic could be detected, woven into the mech's harsh voice.

At any other time May probably would have been flustered at her current position. The young pirate laid on top of the metallic creature, straddling his prone form, an arm on either side to support her weight.

The young pirate's eyes watered from the force of the blow, pain shooting through her neck. The robot's hand had hit her with such steely force that had he both his legs; her neck would have snapped on impact.

"Please... d-don't," the young Gear was frozen in fright.

The robotic copy had not expected this. Instead of a hardened Command Gear, a frightened young girl stood before him. She seemed so fragile, so innocent, not at all the killing machine his data suggested.

May saw her captor's gaze was distracted and attempted to break the strangle hold he had on her. She attempted to jerk herself upward so as to break free from his grip. She should have known better. Instead the iron warrior's grip painfully tightened around her already injured neck.

"No," he warned. The steel warrior took a moment to consider the most suitable course of action before continuing.

"Using your right hand," he chimed out, "you will lift me upright. Make any attempt to escape or damage me and I will end your life without warning. Understood?"

May gritted her teeth. She was unaccustomed to taking orders from anyone except for Johnny. She burned at the thought of taking orders from a creature who was, in essence, a sentient toaster.

"Understood?" It asked again, the android's grip tightening around her small throat.

"Y-Yea! I g-got it," she managed to choke out.

"You," he said, signaling Dizzy. "Retrieve my support. After doing so you will immediately toss it to me. Move closer to me and I will end my hostage's life without warning. Toss my implement unduly short, or attempt to delay and I will end her life without warning. Do you Understand?"

"Yes," the frightened Gear said, her voice barely above a whisper. May did as she was instructed, struggling under her captor's vast weight. As the orange pirate struggled to maintain the iron creature's balance on a total of three legs Dizzy searched for his crutch. She found it scattered underneath one of the wooden benches across from her.

"I-I… I found it," her voice wavering slightly. The robot made no indication that he had heard Instead his lensed eyes were fixed on her, assuring the Gear did as she was told.

She tossed the makeshift crutch at May's feet. He watched passively, as May struggled to pick up the iron implement, as if unconcerned his mind slowly ticking away variables.

As soon as the young pirate had finished retrieving, and resituating the iron man's temporary limb he continued.

"Gear," he commanded, "you will proceed outside the church and wait. Once you have done so I will release my prisoner. Do not follow me and do not attempt to stop me. Do you understand?" His speech was concise and metallic yet May thought there was something strange about it.

She had fought one of these creatures before and, despite his damage, there was something very different about this unit. She couldn't quiet put her finger on it.

"I-I understand just... please... don't h-hurt... May," the Gear's show of concern unnerved the clockwork-man. Although he had seen similar shows of attachment from other humans they still made no sense to him. But she wasn't completely human either he reasoned.

When he thought about it that way, however, her concern made even less sense. She was a Gear, a calibrated killing machine. Although his steel face betrayed no emotion he was inwardly shocked at the thought. Was she the same as he?

Dizzy cast a concerned look to May before hesitantly turning and shuffling out the door. The prototype imitation waited until he was sure she had gone.

"Alright ya' stupid toaster-jerk, let-" May was interrupted as the battered android's fingers quickly found the pressure points on her neck. With a sharp squeeze the girl went limp and fell to the ground unconscious.

He had decided killing the Japanese girl might incur the wrath of her companion, something he could not afford at that moment.

He made as best time as he could, hobbling out of the shattered building. He cut a line to the nearest house, hoping that the wayward half Gear hadn't figured out he was gone yet. He had to put some distance between him, the unconscious pirate and Dizzy.

The broken robot ducked into a nearby doorway and made his way from room to room until he found a large, dark, corner. The room was mostly empty save for some debris which had crashed down through the splintered roof. He lowered himself into a dark corner, resting his crutch on the one functioning arm.

He hoped Dizzy would take her companion and quickly leave.

His right arm still hung limp at his side, completely unresponsive. The android had been lucky May had chosen to attack as he seriously doubted that he could have staved off any attack had Dizzy chosen to make a move.

May was easy to read, she loudly broadcasted her moves. If there was one thing that he possessed, it was an acute ability to analyze and understand the world around him.

He realized something was wrong, he was slightly too heavy. The clockwork-man reached into his pocket and found the leather Bible from the church. He was surprised at first but recalled that he had, without much thought, slipped the book into his pocket when he discovered Dizzy. The android slipped the book back into his pocket deciding that he would, for the time being, keep the tome.

A small noise caused the android's gaze to snap up. He was staring into red eyes. The iron warrior had been so transfixed by the odd book that he hadn't notice the Gear stumble onto his hiding place.

He was frantic and, for the first time in his short life, he was afraid. Never before had this feeling lodged itself in his being. For the first time in his life, he wanted to live.

Her eyes widened, realizing that she too had been discovered and her mouth moved to form a warning. If May was indeed so soon recovered it was unlikely she would make the same mistake twice.

"Please," he cried, his hand flying out as if to stop her. "No..." His speech was low and buzzing, shaking slightly. The Gear was silent, completely unprepared for the pleading cry. As he gazed into her eyes the android saw many things, fear, anger, confusion, compassion. For a time they sat in silence, neither daring to speak or move.

Slowly, the clockwork-man began to right himself on his makeshift appendage. He had a difficult time steadying himself as his body was overtaken by violent shaking.

Why did he feel this way? It seemed as though his motor movement was sluggish and inaccurate, he was positive all functioning motor systems were operating normally. He wondered if this is what the people he had killed felt before the end.

Those people he'd sent to their end, is this what they felt when they looked at him? His eyes quickly swept the room finding a second doorway near him. It lead back out into the frozen landscape. The automaton slowly backed his way toward it, keeping his gaze on the still motionless Gear.

The android made a frantic dash for the exit, panic overtaking him. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a clatter his crutch scattering out before him. He had to get away. The android frantically called forward, using his good arm to drag his useless body towards the exit in a mad dash for survival.

Dizzy was startled when the iron man had lost his balance, fear over taking him. She watched as he crawled, scraping his useless form along the ground. She frowned, her features softening.

This didn't seem like the cold, unfeeling creature she had seen back at the church or that May had described when she came to. It reminded her of when she had first stumbled upon the robot; his head knelt in shame, sobs wracking his mechanical body. The half Gear knelt down next to the frantic automaton and softly placed a hand on its shoulder.

"No," it cried, flailing out its functioning limbs in a futile attempt to repulse Dizzy, "p-please... d-do not... do not hurt me!" Although the creature's features remained neutral its buzzing voice shook violently.

Realizing the futility of his struggles the mechanical man slowly curled himself into the fetal position, hand gripping his face, as if to stave off his imminent demise. "Temperature-exceeding-suggested-parameters. Complete-evacuation-advised," a small diagnostic voice from inside the clockwork-man warned.

"It's all right, you... don't need to be afraid," the Gear's voice was soft in his ears soothing the panic in his mind. He waited a moment, and when no blow came he slowly looked up at Dizzy.

She smiled, holding a finger to her lips while running her hand through his platinum blond hair. Dizzy reached behind her and presented him with the heavy metal crutch he had lost moments earlier in his panic stricked flight. The frightened automaton hesitated for a moment before reaching out with his good arm and claiming the makeshift limb. A small smile graced the Dizzy's features, sending a warm sensation through his whole body. The half Gear took a few small steps backwards giving the cowering robot some room to manuever.

As the tension eased the android let out a puff of superheated steam, easing the thermal stress on his internal components. Sensing that no attack was coming he attempted to right himself, supporting his bulk on the metal crutch.

For a moment he stood staring into the Gear's eyes, not being able to make sense of what had happened. She smiled sadly back at him, serving only to further confound the clockwork-man.

Slowly he began to make his way to the exit. As he stepped through the threshold he cast one last glance at his angelic savior. She had spared his life despite the android's treatment of her friend. Why? He turned away, the wondrous creature engraved in his memory before wandering once again into the snow.

**Author's Note:** That was a fun one. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I toyed with the idea of having our mechanical protagonist join up with Dizzy and May but decided the timing wasn't right.

There may be a delay between this chapter and the next one as I'm not exactly sure how to continue from here. I know where I want to go but I don't quiet have the words to get there yet. In any event I'll try and get working on the next one ASAP.

The chapter title 'Engel' is the German translation for the word Angel. I felt, for obvious reasons, that it was appropriate for this chapter. 'Engel' is also a song by the German industrial group Rammstein.


	4. Chapter IV: Vigil

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear of its associated characters.

Chapter IV: Vigil

Ky sighed inwardly as he stared blankly at the page in front of him. This report was getting out of control. The actual story was relatively simple and required very little in depth explanation. The more he wrote down; however, the list of things he had to include grew longer. Of all the things the young captain disliked about his position at the IPF, deskwork was, by far, the most loathsome. Ky was a product of the Holy Wars and, having become a formidable warrior, longed to put his talents to better use.

He'd become sloppy from the comforts of post-War life. Ky had fought these robotic imitations before. He knew how mechanical and unfeeling they were but the thought of his latest encounter with the creatures chilled him to the core.

Granted, it had been much stronger then the previous models but that was the least of his worries. The ex-crusader never thought that such wanton slaughter could occur since the end of the Holy Wars.

Ky tossed out the draft he'd been working on and put a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. He titled and readdressed the report. The document was fairly straight forward until he tried to explain what had happened and why. _'…the attack on the small german village served to lure me into the open. It would appear the machine's goal was to assassinate me. He left no survivors.'_ Kk always hated writing that part.

He continued on, but decided to leave a few details out. _'I was confronted by a robotic imitation of myself. This unit seemed more skilled and of higher quality then its previous iterations. My past encounters with this type of opponent usually consisted of a coordinated strike by multiple units. There was, however, only one subject during this attack, making this case a unique one.'_

He frowned; the memory of that mechanical creature was burned into his mind. A local who had passed through the area sent word to the IPF that a small village north of Hamburg seemed to be in trouble. His official report noted the spotting of several slain individuals and smoke rising from the town.

When Ky had arrived on the scene he found the villagers dead and the village decimated. The manner in which the villagers died was highly varied. Many were hacked up, missing arms, legs, and heads which were invariably scattered about elsewhere. Others seemed like they had been flayed alive, their corpses mangled about at odd angles. Still others were impaled with bits of industrial piping, still pinned to the walls, their mouths voicing silent screams. Some of the corpses were so mutilated and destroyed that they defied any sort of conventional identification.

Ky had found their slayer in a large dark room. He wasn't sure what purpose the building had served before his arrival. Blood smeared the walls and anything that had rested in the building was destroyed or used to slay the buildings occupants.

Ky vividly recalled his first encounter with the mechanical assassin. The lifeless automaton had sat there, its leg's crossed, cheek resting idly on one hand, its face cocked to the side in indifferent boredom. Gore was smeared across its metallic features giving it an almost hellish appearance. Ky recalled that, at the time, it had seemed like there was a hungry smile on the automaton's lips.

"Why," Ky's voice had shook with anger, shadows dancing across his blad, "they meant nothing to you… Why… would you kill them?" The mechanical man sat there idly toying with a fallen corpse nearby. Its sword was still lodged in the young man's chest, his features wide in horror.

"You," The Crusader's voice steadied itself. The anger woven into his speech was gone, replaced by something more terrible.

Whether it was hate, fury, or some other manner of blinding rage he couldn't remember. At the time, however, it had consumed him, the darkness overtaking him and ravaging his senses like fire. Ky shuddered when he thought back on it. That creature had invoked feelings in him he'd long thought dead.

As he stared at the listless automaton the knight's mind was blank. Everything was cast into shadow, darkness was all around him. There were no words when he came for the creature, no tears and no idle threats.

In an instant Ky's sword bit into the mechanical man but instead of the reassuring screeching of shredding metal he heard something else. In an instant the automaton was on his feet, his hand intercepting Ky's sword.

Ky let go his right hand and used the momentum of the failed blow to spin himself around. A crackling white light consumed his arm as he angled himself to strike at the machine's unguarded side.

The clockwork-warrior struck before Ky was able to land the blow. There was a cracking sound as the blunt end of the imitation Thunderseal plunged into his body and sent the ex-knight flailing.

Ky distinctly remembered hurtling across the room and crashing through a weakened wall but couldn't recall the pain of the impact. The last thing he remembered with any sort of accuracy was pulling himself free of the splintered wood and busted plaster. The blond officer recalled the clash of swords and the strike of lightning and faintly remembered as they waged battle across the ruined town, stray blows shattering what was left of broken buildings and throwing dust into the air but the specifics seemed a blur.

This hole in his memory always baffled Ky. It was as if he had not been the one fighting and that instead the young warrior had watched the battle from the corner of his eye with feigned interest.

In the end justice had been served to the best of his ability. He couldn't help but wonder however, if death was any type of punishment to a creature that did not technically live. The young knight ran his hand through golden hair, frustrated with this unsatisfying thought.

Ky sighed heavily and tore out the half done report before inserting a new sheet of paper and beginning again.

It seemed like it was always raining in England. Almost a year had passed in relative obscurity since that fateful encounter with his biological twin. The clockwork-man had journeyed far in that time, idly wandering to and fro with little rhyme or reason. He disliked not knowing the next step in the progression of events. The fact that he had no idea where he was going or why he should go there endlessly frustrated the clockwork-man.

In this time, however, he had found it a type of mildly interesting pass time to read the strange book he'd acquired just previous to his meeting with the famed half-Gear Dizzy. The automaton found it odd how his current situation seemed so similar to some described within it. At first the book had meant nothing to him. The clockwork-man read simply to better understand his biological counterpart's strength's and weaknesses. He had thought that perhaps there was some great secret to his prowess within the book.

As he read however, he found that no such secret was to be discovered. Instead he found himself disgusted at these stories of a fickle god. One such story particularly vexed the creature. "Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground," the story read. "Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand… You will be a restless wanderer on the earth."

He had always hated that story. It spoke to him and he did not know why. It didn't make much sense to him. As brothers Caine and Abel had lived side by side, paying tribute to their God, yet when God did not look favorably upon Caine's offerings he was driven to murder his brother. For this the young man was cursed to wander the world without purpose, bearing a mark that would likewise curse any man who attempted to kill him and end Caine's suffering.

The clockwork-man couldn't help but wonder if there was metaphorical value in the story. Logically it seemed that his biological double would be his metaphorical 'brother'. Thus, had he been successful in his attempt to slay Ky Kiske, it would be reasonable to assume that, if God existed, he might also punish the automaton in a similar fashion. This, he thought, would explain his current situation quiet neatly.

Unfortunately the clockwork-man could not reconcile this with actual events. He had been unable to end Ky's life and since the robot had no data to support the existence of an all-powerful being he reasoned that the story of Caine and Abel was completely fictional. The more he thought about it, however, the more it seemed as if there was something moving beyond his control, shaping the events that had transpired. It seemed unlikely that Kiske had accidentally allowed the droid to survive and that he should then accidentally be afflicted with these strange new thoughts.

The clockwork-man shook the thought from his head. It was ultimately unimportant whether or not his life reflected anything written in his leather bound keepsake. If there were any answers contained within the tome they were far beyond his ability to uncover at this point.

At the moment he was due for another tune-up. Despite the miraculous process of MBR, the droid still required a good oiling and cleaning now and again. His joints creaked from over use and lack of maintenance. The automaton sat in a small broken down shack just outside a small village, attending to his weary components.

It must have sprung up in the last few years and since he was completely autonomous from his creators it was absent from his charts of the region. The droid sat quietly, his good leg, scattered on the ground in pieces. He used some scraps of old cloth to clean between joints and clean out dirt. Although this was not his preferred method of repair, he had little other option at the time.

His inner machinations hummed quietly as the clockwork-man began disassembling his functioning leg. As he removed each part he gave it a thorough scrub, scraping off the grime that had accumulated there. As he continued his work the clockwork-man's mind wandered back to the day everything had changed. It was still so vivid, so fresh in his mind.

The iron warrior's target had put up a much greater fight than he had originally calculated. Ky was quick, strong, and unforgiving. As the two figures danced across the landscape the automaton recorded and analyzed his opponent's every move. No matter how long he analyzed, however, the clockwork-warrior was unable to implement an effective counter strategy.

The hell bent knight crashed through every one of his defenses, sidestepped every subtle change in form and thwarted every calculated counter attack. That wasn't to say that he was completely unscathed however. The iron warrior had inflicted a staggering level of damage on his target but none of the blows seemed to register within his opponent's mind.

The automaton had the advantage of being a brutal warrior but the creature's true strength lay in his ability to analyze and exploit the weaknesses of his opponents. This allowed him to effectively break them down physically, mentally and emotionally. This crusader, however, seemed possessed. It was as if Ky was unable to feel the massive pain of pierced flesh and broken bone.

The clockwork-warrior parried another blow, adjusting his stance slightly as he struck out again with his blade. His opponent simply charged through the mechanical blow as if it had never existed.

As they fought on the steel construct began to realize there was something that he hadn't taken into account. There was still some variable he had left untouched. His opponent fought with not only his body and mind but with something else. The crusader fought with something that defied his every attempt at analysis.

Ky came at the mechanical man full force, his hand crackling with white light. The iron warrior threw out his hand, seizing the man's arm, and thwarting the blow. Then there was a sheering noise as steel met steel.

Although he had blocked the original blow, the imitation man had not been prepared for his opponent's inexplicable ferocity. The knight brought down his full fury on the automaton's vulnerable limb. His sword burned through the appendage, crackling electricity superheating the droid's steely flesh. The wounded automaton fell back, loosing his balance as the limb loosed itself from his body.

The enraged crusader capitalized with blinding speed, his sword moving quickly back across the droid's body sheering his leg off just above the knee, sending loose parts scattering about. The blow didn't register in the automaton's brain until his back hit concrete. When his senses returned the man was already bearing down on him.

The bloodied knight stood less than a foot from him, a sword in either hand. It took a moment for the droid to realize it was his sword in the crusader's off-hand.

He readied himself to strike out again but something stopped him. The battered construct's attention was focused on the man's eyes. There was something there, beneath blue, beneath black, hidden behind his crystalline gaze.

In that moment he knew he would die.

The man stared down at him. "You are nothing." The automaton remained quiet, his unfeeling gaze observing the cold creature that now stood before him.

"You take life, but you do not live. You kill, yet you cannot die," his voice was low and steady, filled with ice. The man stopped and carefully considered his next words.

"You… are a cheap imitation of life, worth less than the lives you've taken, less than the town you've destroyed, less than the dirt and dust upon which you rest."

These words meant nothing to the droid. He simply sat there, transfixed by the man's penetrating gaze, dark murmurs forming in his mind.

The man spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, hate and malice seething in his words. "You are less than nothing."

Then he raised his off hand high, and all was dark.

The construct jarred from his concentration as the dream reached its climax, the blade shattering as it impacted the concrete behind him. A small washer slipped through his metallic fingers and scattered into the mud. He sat still for a moment, his inner machinations humming low in his ears.

The clockwork-man had relived that moment a thousand fold, and each time it disturbed him even more. The terrible thing about his existence was that the things he had seen never faded with time. So long as he lived the automaton would recall every moment of his life with infinite precision. It was his terrible curse, he could never forget. The battered droid was lost so deep in thought that he didn't hear when the rotting door to the shelter creaked open.

Ky handed off the painstakingly completed report to his commanding officer. The small, unremarkable man mumbled a small congratulations to the ex-knight on a job well done and dismissed him.

The blond officer absent-mindedly wandered the tan hallways as he made his was back to his desk. Although he'd finished his report Ky was far from pleased with it. He'd omitted most of the gory details in his final draft, deciding that it was ultimately unimportant in the scheme of things. Still, it felt like he had forgotten something else.

Whenever Ky thought about that day it seemed like there were still loose ends to tie up. He looked down at his desk; there was already a stack of papers accumulating. He inwardly frowned and took his seat. Whenever the monotony of paper-pushing got to him, the blond soldier found his mind wandering back to the time he'd spent in China.

Although it had been a fairly uneventful trip overall but he had met a very special someone there. Ky remembered how he'd seen her carefully eyeing an assortment of vegetables, trying to determine which was most suited for cooking. She looked different from their first meeting but, given the circumstances surrounding the falsified 500,000 dollar bounty he figured she would. He recalled that even under her disguise she looked as hauntingly beautiful as ever.

She was alarmed when she saw him at first but after they got to talking and learned Ky had no place to stay she offered to share a room with him. They spent the next several days together. At first they had been extremely wary of each other, spending time together only out of the necessity of shelter. They had quickly gone from wary acquaintances to casual friends.

He realized those days had been the happiest of his life, helping her run errands and watching her cook meals, albeit a bit clumsily. Ky cringed when the young officer saw he'd mistakenly signed the incorrect blank. He carefully cleared out the black marks and started over.

Of all the things Ky missed about his time outside the IPF, Ky missed her most of all. Although they were just friends, the young officer found himself missing her companionship far more than he expected too. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She moved with an almost absent-minded grace despite her unnatural inner strength. She was worth caring for, worth protecting, worth loving. Perhaps, he thought, it was time he went back for a visit.

**Author's Note:** This chapter has gone through a huge change and no longer resembles either the original fourth chapter I had planned or the one I ended up writing in its place. Huge thanks to Talon Silverwolf for both the review and the literary criticism. This chapter would not have been possible without him.

I've decided I like the feeling of Ky taking a more central role in this fic. Expect to see more of him in the future and no, this is not a Ky x Jam fic. Any character relationships I do end up adding serve only to further our yet unnamed hero's development.

In any event I always appreciate a good review now and then. I'll try and get the next chapter up as fast as possible but like this chapter I'm writing them as they come to me so it may be a while.

The title of this chapter comes from the song "Vigil" by "Lamb of God".

-iD3


	5. Chapter V: I'm Broken

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear or any of its associated characters.

Chapter V: I'm Broken

Of all the many things in the world the clockwork-man had experienced in the past year, he hated most of all the sensations of confusion and helplessness. Unfortunately these two emotions were almost as close to his heart as the strange phantoms which assailed his every waking moment. There were very few times since that fateful day that the automaton could recall the familiar feelings of understanding, uniformity and express purpose. Instead the creature found himself idly meandering the blurred lines of confusion and ignorance just as he was now.

The clockwork-man had been so consumed by his thoughts, he failed to notice when the door struggled open. A small yelp startled the construct back to reality. A small girl had been lured close in the dim light, mistaking the metallic beast for a man of flesh and blood. The construct's mind whirred to life, running scenarios. If this awkward situation was not resolved quickly and efficiently it could spell disaster for the damaged construct. In the blink of an eye he knew what had to be done.

The legless metal beast lunged forward, hand flying out and taking hold of the small girl's neck. The tiny child fell to the floor as the heavy creature's speed and force easily overtook her. She hit the floor hard and was knocked unconscious. Something was wrong.

It took a moment for the immobilized construct to realize what it was. This child should be dead, not unconscious.

He was designed to be a calibrated killing machine, slaying with ruthless efficiency. This meant that logically he should have allowed his full mass to fall on the child, crushing her. Instead, however, his other hand had fallen in place and broke his rapid decent, shielding the girl from his terrible weight.

Even now the slightest movement of his hand could end the small girl's life. His only chance at survival was to kill her. If he let the child go she would, inevitably, find her way back to the village and reveal his location. It was his life, or the girl's. In the back of his mind he wondered what strange turn of events had caused this situation. What odd purpose had brought him to this place?

It seemed as though the chances of this child wandering in on him at that particular time were astronomically small. If that was the case, however, why was he in the position he was in? He shook the thought from his mind to focus on more important matters.

Despite the simple nature of the problem the clockwork-man couldn't bring himself to kill her. Each time he attempted to tense his hand and kill the child his fingers would not respond. His luminous eyes traced the small creature's features. Her hair was sandy blond, her face freckled its color drained in fright. The steel construct noticed a growing dark spot on her dress.

The phantoms raved in his mind, their screams and moans almost audible. He felt the building pressure in his mind, threatening to tear him apart. "Temperature-exceeding-recommended-levels. Emergency-evacuation-advised," the grating metallic chiming in his skull only added to the splitting pain in his head. The clockwork-man decided that was what it was after all, pain.

The young girl moaned and her eyes flickered back to life. At first it was as though she had awoken from a bad dream, feeling safe in the world of the waking. If that was the case, however, she was still asleep.

The child's eyes filled with terror and silent tears began to stream down her cheeks as she realized her situation. The clockwork-man stared into those teary eyes for what seemed like an eternity. For all his traveling, he still couldn't understand why these moments vexed him so.

The darkness roared in his head, and slowly, but surely he the fringes of understanding began to develop in his positronic brain.

Amidst the roaring of shadows and the whirring of gears a single, small, almost non-existent thought began to bubble to the surface. Then realization dawned on the broken automaton. In this moment of complete and absolute terror, as he held the small creature's life in his hands, she knew that she would die.

But she looked so alive.

His hand robotically released its grip on the child's neck, freeing her from his steely grasp. At first she sat completely still, unsure of her assailant's intentions but not wishing to provoke him. Several moments passed in complete silence, the low humming of the mechanical man's machine parts soft in the background. He stared into her eyes. A strange part of him wanted to look away, but the screaming in his head blocked out all rational thought, leaving his mind blank.

"Go," his artificial voice was low, crackling slightly as it strained to express the soft feeling in his chest. He failed miserably. Instead it sounded low, guttural, almost savage, and startled the girl. She scampered from underneath his prone figure, fleeing in blind terror. Her small figure clipped the door sending her sprawling into the rain and mud. She quickly righted herself and scampered into the dark.

The legless automaton listened to her footsteps as they faded into the majestic droning of the rain. As the girl faded into the distance the roaring phantoms slowly began to subside. It was as if the child's safe escape had in some way appeased them or had, at least, removed the source of their anger.

His thoughts turned to mindless calm, the falling of the rain absorbing his concentration. He didn't know why it soothed him but it did. The rain existed somewhere between places he decided. Although that made little sense and meant even less he decided that was the best explanation he could come up with. And for a time he was satisfied.

As he mused the tarnished warrior was able to forget about the places he'd been, the things he'd done, the people he'd killed, and the man he'd failed to defeat. He was able to ignore the terrible scars that man had left on him, able to forget the screaming faces of so many, able to forget that child's tears.

Instead, he thought back to eyes of crimson, and wings of black and white. He was content, appeased, and, for a time, he was at peace.

Then realization hit the automaton hard. It stripped away all his foolish notions and brought him back to cold, hard reality.

He had to get away.

How long he'd remained stationary he didn't know. The clockwork-man found it difficult to get a good handle on time. This made it all the more imperative that he escape as soon as he could.

In his moment of weakness the defenseless warrior had allowed that small child to escape, sealing his fate. She would return to her parents, bruised, muddy and teary-eyed.

She would tell them everything.

He struggled to gather up his disconnected leg and reassemble it. It might take a human technician an hour or more to reattach the limb; it would take the construct under twenty minutes to do so. That was twenty minutes he didn't have.

They burst through the door all at once, a mob of faceless rage. Their hands grabbed at his prone form, seizing hold of what remained of severed legs jarring him from his work and scattering parts everywhere.

"No," his shaking voice called out, begging forgiveness. "Please!" The frantic automaton's steely fingertips clawed at the dirt as they pulled him out into the rain.

He could only wonder at how they had assembled so quickly. It was, however, unimportant. They were here, they had him, and they were going to kill him. They dragged the clockwork-man through the mud as he helplessly clawed at the soft earth. Their chants and yells drowned out any attempt the droid made to beg for mercy.

They were in town now. The panicked droid vaguely recognized the angry people lining the street. They roared as one titanic creature, swarming him, threatening to swallow him whole.

"Please!" The construct shot out his arm, seizing a nearby woman's dress pleading for his life. The rest of his cry for help was drowned out by her piercing shriek. The large hand of a well muscled man seized the droid's flailing limb. He brought a heavy steel axe down on the automaton's shoulder. The limb shrieked out as metal sheered metal.

The automaton let out a bloodcurdling scream. His synthetic vocal chords vibrated discordantly, producing a terrible, churning wail. The sound was inhuman, unlike any natural occurring sound in the world. It drowned out the sound of the mob, and consumed the clockwork-man's entire being.

His right arm let go the muddy ground and clutched at where his left arm had been moments before. He saw nothing but the oozing of dark fluids as they left the weeping wound and heard nothing but his own screaming. Exactly why he screamed he didn't know. Although he'd come to know the sensation by the same name, the construct didn't feel pain, not like a creature of flesh and blood does. The mechanical man cried out all the same.

The mob heaved the wailing creature into the middle of the street. Some clutched at their ears, attempting to drown out the construct's terrible moaning, others screamed louder, their curses lost in the cacophony of sound but most pelted him with things, beating at the defenseless creature.

The construct's mind was blank. The phantoms in his mind grew still louder, their screams climaxing in a gross mockery of the townspeople's own cries. The clockwork-man curled in on himself, head tucked, his only remaining limb gripping fiercely at his synthetic mane. His body heaved uncontrollably as his screams subsided, replaced by the yelling of the mob. They closed on him, growing tired of the idle thing and moving to finish the job. It had been his life or hers. She had lived, so now he must die.

But just as the killing blow was about to fall someone stepped into the fray. The construct did not see her, he didn't hear her soft pleas for mercy, he didn't hear when the shots rang out. The clockwork-man was in a different place. He was in a place with vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows, a place where it always rained, the soft droplets echoing in the quiet spaces, a place where he could gaze into crimson eyes forever, and touch feather tipped wings.

**Author's Note:** Huzzah! Another chapter finished. Classes start on Monday so updates might be fewer and farther between. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, namely TimeReaper,DarkmoonFlute288 and BlindWanderer. As always a huge thanks to Talon Silverwolf, head of the 'Guilty Writers' fiction group, for helping me edit and redraft.

I've been looking forward to getting to the next part in this story which will hopefully start sometime next chapter. If all goes as planned we should get a name for our robotic protagonist. In any event it'll take me a while to get started on the next chapter. I need time to figure out where I'm going again!

In other news, I'm considering writing a Ky x Dizzy fic once I finish "The Search for I". I think it might feature a much darker side of Ky then is traditionally seen but its still in the works.

In any event the chapter title, "I'm Broken" is from a song of the same name by Pantera.


	6. Chapter VI: Antiproduct

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty Gear or its associated characters.

Chapter VI: Antiproduct

The robotic man stared blankly at the cold steel walls. He didn't know where he was, then again, the construct didn't know that he cared. The room was filled with boxes containing all manner of odds and ends. Parts, he supposed, for any number of machines that might need to be replaced or repaired. Most of the containers were stacked neatly in columns and rows, on shelves or by walls. There were, however, a few scattered at various workbenches, their contents strewn about the work space.

It was always an odd feeling not knowing where he was or what was happening. Lately, however, this was a feeling the nearly limbless android was learning to live with.

He couldn't help but wonder what odd twist of fate had placed him in his current situation. It didn't seem that the events which had transpired could be purely coincidental. The android reasoned that something else was happening. Something was moving in the background, unseen, orchestrating this gross comedy. He had, after all, escaped very violent deaths on two separate occasions. The more he thought about it however, the more it confused him.

According to the android's records this was the third day since he had awakened in the odd room which he assumed was a storage space. It was entirely possible, however, that he had been here for longer. He had no recollection of the events that occurred after his near-death experience or before the time he woke up three days earlier. In addition no one ever came or went, giving the impression of lifelessness. So there he sat, propped up against a steel bulkhead that hummed softly in his ears.

The clockwork-man idly fumbled with the small, leather bound tome in his lap. He'd memorized the text and even though the automaton could recite the book cover to cover he always found himself reading. Many of the things in the thick document seemed obscure. Perhaps he would never understand the paradoxical existence of mankind.

The stoic automaton cast his gaze sideways, realizing that he was no longer alone. There was another figure standing in the faint artificial light. He instantly recognized her. There, no more than twenty feet away stood the blue-haired half Gear.

What was she doing here? It seemed too odd of a situation to be mere coincidence. The clockwork-man watched the graceful creature with fixed interest. He waited for Dizzy to make the first move, being unable to do so himself, but she just stood there. The automaton watched her crimson eyes, searching for anything the might be hidden there.

He found something he wasn't expecting. Unlike his biological counterpart, Dizzy's eyes were soft. The android had long since given up any attempt to make real sense of what he saw behind the gaze of other people. Despite the changes the clockwork-man had experienced he would never be quite human. Instead the clockwork-man savored every moment he was blessed by the half Gear's presence.

Dizzy walked slowly up to where the automaton lay, her gaze roaming over the creature's broken form. She stopped a few feet away, an awkward silence falling over the two.

"Did you save me?" The imitation man's voice hinted at mild interest. Dizzy hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the creature's bluntness. She nodded, sadness washing over her features. It seemed as though the half Gear were somewhere else, reliving some odd moment in her past.

"Is something wrong?" The automaton's voice brought her back to reality.

"No, just a little distracted," she lied. The clockwork-man could see recognition in her features. She remembered him. He was genuinely surprised. Although their initial encounter had been somewhat traumatic the thought that they would meet again had never crossed his mind.

"You're on the Mayship," she continued. "We'll take care of you here."

The droid watched her curiously, remaining silent.

"Um," it was clear she had expected some type of response but when none was forth coming she continued on. "My name is Di-"

"Dizzy," he interrupted. "Command Gear. Thought dead, although unconfirmed as the individual who claimed her bounty failed to provide sufficient proof when further investigated."

The imitation man continued to reel off any bit of information that was relevant to the half Gear's existence. He stopped, however, when he saw a small frown form on Dizzy's face. An odd silence fell back over the two. It was becoming increasingly clear the droid had done something wrong but he wasn't quite sure what. He filed away the observation for later.

"Did I do something wrong?" The droid asked, breaking the awkward silence. The half Gear hesitated for a moment before answering.

"No," she said. "It's just that… well… You interrupted me and…" The half Gear struggled with her words, finding it difficult to express the subtle, unwritten rules of human interaction.

The clockwork-man noted her hesitation and waited patiently for further explanation. When none came, however, he felt it appropriate to make amends for the unnamed trespass he had committed.

"I apologize," he began. The automaton's tone was metallic and aloof, unable to express the confusion he felt or portray the sincerity of his words. "I am unable to fully understand the delicate sensibilities of human interaction. This is possibly due to incomplete programming, as I am only a prototype."

"I… don't think that's why," Dizzy said, mostly to herself. Although the explanation seemed plausible to the clockwork-man it was clear that Dizzy saw something he didn't.

"You said you're a prototype?" Dizzy asked, apparently deciding this was better than the awkward silences they had been stumbling in and out of.

"Yes," the clockwork-man responded. "I am the ninth developmental prototype to the 3-Series 'Imitation Warrior' project."

"Imitation… Warrior? Who would do something like that?" The half Gear said, genuinely confused. The clockwork-man did not pick up on the negative connotations of her statement and instead responded to the literal statement.

"I have not been provided with any information regarding my creators. As an HK-S model I operated with complete autonomy. Therefore it is likely that in the event of my capture or destruction, my creators did not wish any evidence linking me to them."

"That's so sad…" Dizzy's features fell. The clockwork-man didn't enjoy seeing the half Gear sad but it intrigued him. Why would she care? He had never given a second thought to his isolated existence. It was inherently part of his function. It was part of who he was.

"Did they even give you a name?" The clockwork-man was caught off guard by this question. He searched his mechanical mind for an answer. Although he had been provided with a basic unit serial code and identification that was clearly not what Dizzy was referring to.

"No," he replied simply. The droid's voice buzzed unhealthily as he struggled with the abstract question. His gaze fell and his grip unconsciously tightened.

"Everyone should have a name," Dizzy said, running her hand through the limbless android's hair. "We just need to find you one." The half Gear smiled sadly at him. The gesture reassured the clockwork-man for reasons he didn't quite understand.

The door opened, a small figure poking its head in. Although this caught Dizzy's attention, the imitation man was more interested in her than the new arrival. He vaguely wondered why Dizzy was the way she was. Weren't Gears biological weapons made for war? Although the clockwork-man knew the reports and statistics surrounding the blue-haired girl he couldn't see the terrible power that all his sources suggested. Instead he saw a girl who was quite possibly more human than any other.

How was that possible?

She turned back to him. "I have to go now but… I'll see if I can't find you a name when I get back okay?" The clockwork-man nodded dumbly, unable to think of any other response.

The graceful half Gear exited the small room, leaving the imitation man in darkness. Before she had come the droid's mind had been relatively empty, uncaring as to where he was or the circumstances of his arrival. Now, however, everything was different. The automaton's head was brimming with ideas he couldn't have conceived minutes earlier.

One question superseded all others, pushing to the forefront of his mind. Who was he?

He reached back, into his past, searching for an answer to the obscure question. Memories flooded back to the clockwork-man, whisking him away from the small metal room. He dreamt of pain, blood, death and human gore. Once, these things had been a fact of life, a consequence of his existence. Now they were a hellish nightmare he could never escape from.

Darkness began to ebb at the corners of his consciousness as the clockwork-man relived the terrible deeds he'd done. Did he even want to know who he really was? Then the sorrowful creature heard them.

The voices began low and lazy, as though waking from a long slumber. However, the blood on the automaton's hands excited them as he relived his tainted past and they grew steadily louder.

His head hurt. The clockwork-man didn't want to see these visions anymore but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to know who he was but it was too late. The dark places in the back of his mind were overtaking him. The wailing in his ears strengthened. The creeping darkness whispered malicious reminders of his deeds in the droid's ears. He could hear the sounds of the dying mixed with the unholy hymn in his ears.

The clockwork-man gripped his head tightly attempting to drown out the horrors that unfolded in his personal hell. Specters called out to him on all sides. They taunted him, their sardonic voices tearing at his sanity. They called out to someone, speaking his name, venom laced in their calamitous chants.

The clockwork-man knew full well who they were calling to. Their snarling lips chanted his name. Moments earlier the droid would have given anything to know his name, to know who he was. Now he couldn't drown out the appellation which came to him on fell winds no matter how hard he tried.

Strength left him. The droid no longer had the volition to fight back against the inevitable truth. Gloom consumed his near limbless figure as his demons tore at what remained of the imitation man's soul.

Who was he? The clockwork-man couldn't find himself through all the people he'd killed. So instead he remained still, lacking the will to wrest himself from where he lay. The empty construct sat that way for a long time, the dim, artificial light throwing shadows across the floor and wreaking havoc in his weary mind.

**Author's Note:** For those of you who read the original chapter six rest assured, the basic plot line is the same. I decided to extend this important revelation out over the space of two chapters. I felt like I needed a little extra time to develop this section since we're drawing to a climax in the next few chapters and this is a pretty important event.

In other news, "Walk" is a long ways from posting. I like to finish three or so chapters before posting the story so people have a bit of context to go off of. "Walk" is likely to be just as dark, if not more so, than "The Search for I". I might write a lighter fic at some point but nothing in the immediate future.

In any event, it's likely I'll post initial drafts on the Guilty Writers site for peer editing. If you have any questions about Guilty Writers please contact Talon Silverwolf or visit http://guiltywriters. title of this chapter, "Antiproduct" is derived from a song of the same name by the band Strapping Young Lad.

-iD3


	7. Chapter VII: Watching Over Me

Disclaimer: I do not own Guilty gear or its associated characters.

Chapter VII: Watching Over Me

Nothing made much sense anymore he decided. It was difficult to get a fix on just how long he spent sitting in the darkness with the gears in his head whizzing so loud. The clockwork-man doubted it was more than a day but it felt like an eternity. Since the creeping dark in his mind had called out his true name they rarely ceased their mocking chants.

So numbed was the automaton that when the heavy metal door swung open it startled him. Dizzy was back, but she had brought two others with her. The two brunettes lagged behind as the half Gear approached the strange fabrication in front of them. Glowing eyes followed their approach, wary of the two newest visitors.

May and April, the droid recognized. His mind ticked away various archived facts, analyzing possible threats posed and possible weaknesses. As the clockwork-man ticked off the variables, however, it became increasingly clear just how helpless he really was. Regardless, he continued in his machinations, if only to stave off the growing fear in the back of his mind.

"Hey," the half Gear casually greeted him. "How are you?"

"Optimal. Despite my limited functionality I am more than capable of caring for myself." Although Dizzy was understanding of the android's abrasive response her friends were not. He noted an odd expression wash over their faces as the android finished his response. It meant nothing to him.

"These are my friends-"

"April and May," the automaton interrupted, having already known everything he cared to know about the two girls. May glared at the cold response. "Both members of the infamous, Jellyfish Pirates. Although neither pose any real threat, May's Japanese heritage is worthy of note."

The droid continued his musings, listing a variety of facts archived within his person. As the list grew longer, May's patience grew shorter. Her face flushed bright red as the automaton off handedly dismissed her in all the young pirate's faculties.

"Actually," Dizzy interrupted, noting May's growing fury and the droid's uncaring indifference. "We came by to tell you something." The half Gear waited for a response but when none was forth coming she continued.

The droid only half listened to the things Dizzy said. Apparently they thought it was within their power to repair him, having retrieved and studied the arm that the villagers had so crudely removed from his body. As Dizzy spoke the automaton couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief.

The arrogance of these pale creatures was astounding. To think that they presumed their weak, fleshy forms capable of the precision and complexity required in his construction was laughable at best. Never the less, he found himself unable to deny the Gear's charity and nodded in agreement.

The actual process of his reconstruction evaded the construct's attention. From time to time the young brown-haired mechanic would come to take measurements or check some odd fitting or crude adaptation that would haphazardly fit over some existing component.

The clockwork-man ignored her for the most part. She seemed like such a quaint creature to him. Why should he care about the idle meanderings of a puny human? The human condition was one that would forever vex him. The automaton couldn't help but look down on the pitiful creatures. They were imperfect, flawed in everyway, weak from their fleshy forms to their fragile minds.

Even as the clockwork-man listed humanity's multitude of short-coming something else began to weigh heavily on him. Every sense in his robotic mind, every figure and calculation point to mankind's terrible flaws and yet they had been able to reduce him to such a pitiful state. There had to be something he wasn't taking into account. That was the only explanation. If not, everything he knew was wrong.

Weeks passed in relative obscurity, locked away in the bland storage room of the Mayship. The automaton's only visitor was the brunette mechanic. He had begun to think Dizzy had forgotten him though she was always in his thoughts. Then one day she returned.

As always her two closest friends were with her, one the droid had become accustomed to and one who never ceased to irritate him. Dizzy knelt at his side and looked him over. "How are you?"

The clockwork-man didn't respond, not at first. An odd sensation washed over him at the half Gear's words. How was he? She hadn't bothered to visit, shunning him for weeks and she wanted to know how he was?

A boiling feeling filled the automaton's chest. Was he angry? No, he decided, Anger was too strong of a word; perhaps frustration or mild irritation was more accurate. The spring-steel man would have preferred anger; it was a simple feeling, base in all its faculties. Frustration was a boiling sensation that couldn't be quelled. It didn't warrant the extreme actions of rage but left a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach that the droid was unable to satisfy. He couldn't understand what would inspire such an odd feeling in him. It seemed so logical and yet all of his robotic intuitions knew it wasn't so.

Unfortunately for him, the construct was completely incapable of expressing this sudden irritation. "Optimal," was his only response. He considered Dizzy; no other person had the ability incite such terrible feelings in the droid.

He turned away, no longer able to bear the sight of her. Instead the construct turned his attention to April, who had been his sole visitor for the last several weeks. The brunette was busying herself arranging the three prosthetic limbs. It dimly occurred to the clockwork-man that these must be the replacement appendages she had been working on.

It didn't take long for the brunette to install the prosthetics. April worked with skill and precision, rewiring, ratcheting and working the stiff metal limbs together. As she slid the last joint into place and wiped the mechanical grease from her small hands April sighed heavily.

"Good as new," she declared, sounding rather pleased with herself. The clockwork-man waited for a moment, as if afraid that these new limbs would fail to respond to his commands. The new joints whirred noisily as he carefully lifted himself off the ground.

They were skeletal and crude, but relatively effective. These replacement parts had neither the metallic luster nor the sleek design of their originals. The dull material was slightly off color with his original scheme, giving the new limbs a slightly yellowed, aged look.

It would take some time for the new prosthetics to integrate with his existing systems but he was surprised at the rugged efficiency of April's work. In time his regenerative systems would fuse with the limbs, giving him more precise control over the makeshift parts. Despite the resounding success of the brunette's latest endeavor the clockwork-man felt only further irritated.

She had succeeded where he himself had failed. Uncertainty boiled within him. This seemed to be becoming a growing trend. Maybe he had been wrong humans all along. As the clockwork-man turned back to his hosts he could only wonder, what had that man done to him?

Ky didn't have time for this, he was going to miss his flight. He smiled politely at the two young ladies who had approached him and excused himself. They had recognized him over his glass of tea as the stoic warrior was waiting for his flight to come in. Ky had been startled at first when the young women had approached him.

Star-struck by the former knight, the two girls had engaged him in lengthy conversation. The blond Frenchman had failed to notice as time whizzed by. He was lucky that their idle chatter hadn't drawn too much attention to himself. A crowd would have seriously hampered Ky's mad rush to make his flight. The Frenchman supposed it was inevitable that someone was bound to recognize him but tried not to think too much about it as he dodged in and out of the crowd, staggering towards the flight gate.

He made it just in time. Ky squeezed into the sparse plane, making his way through the small cabin. Despite the relatively confined space around him the plane itself was rather empty looking. The blond had heard that before the Holy Wars air travel had been an especially popular method of transportation. People whose work required them to cover great distances in a manner of hours had made frequent use of the lumbering steel peregrines.

Unfortunately as the Crusade's dragged on for a century there had been less need for airplanes and more need for the precious metals they contained. In addition, the fuels needed to run the small fleet of aircraft was exceedingly hard to come by during the war. As such most were grounded, decommissioned and scrapped.

With the end of the Holy Wars, however, there had been a small resurgence in air travel. Unfortunately the horrific destruction wrought upon mankind and its resources by Justice's attacks had made the world a much larger place. Though many airports were crushed under waves of Gears during the war it was the need for reconstruction, the scarcity of working craft and the unsafe condition of the skies that grounded most aircraft.

The few aero planes that had survived the Wars were ancient technology, still running on the fossil fuels of a society which had long since been swept away by the coming of the Gears.

In addition people were more worried about rebuilding what was left of their shattered lives and restoring order to the crumbling empire of humanity than flying across the globe. Why travel ten thousand miles away when your people are starving and your nations lie in ruin?

Crews like the Jellyfish Pirates only emphasized the need for normal people to stay firmly grounded. The skies were home to the cutthroats and rouges of the new world order. Many who had once been Holy Knights during the Crusades had put their blades to piracy when the Order was disbanded.

This made travel by plane an extremely dangerous and expensive affair. Only the wealthiest and most important people could rationalize the steep risks of air travel. The costs simply weren't justifiable to normal citizens.

Ky's gaze wandered as he gazed out the window into the wide expanse of blue and white before him. Things seemed to be coming together, he decided. It wouldn't be long before he landed and hopefully was able to meet with the girl he'd been tracking since he left the IPF.

He still felt like there were some loose ends left undone but, being unable to pinpoint where the discrepancies lay he shook off the feeling. Things were uncomplicated. Soon he'd be with her and the few things that were left undone would, undoubtedly, be resolved. For the first time since the end of the Holy Wars Ky felt at peace. He knew where he was going and, although there was much left to do, once he was with her Ky was sure everything would sort its self out.

**Author's Note: **It's been awhile since the last update but here it is, the fabled chapter seven. Hopefully I'll be able to wrap our saga up in the next couple chapters. Rest assured I've been working long and hard on this chapter, almost straight from the last time I updated, taking a little time for side projects. I recently added a single chapter fic about Chipp Zanuff called This is Absolution and I've been working hard on a Ky x Dizzy fic, Walk.

I really doing the single chapter story I've decided. Be on the look out for some more of those. They don't have the long term dedication and over arching themes that make longer fics so tough. They're a nice break from the norm. I was thinking of doing one on Sol Badguy next but being my favorite GG character I don't think I can do him justice. Feel free to send me any ideas you might have, I'd be interested in seeing where they take me. You can find me at http://guiltywriters. with several other GG specific writers.

In any event expect things to go rapidly downhill from here on out. The pieces have been set in motion and the fickle hand of fate is about to take its course.

Hopefully I'll be able to continue to update. I had a burst of creative energy today, probably the stress of finals. Its more likely that the next update will be delayed for awhile.

In any event, the title of this chapter, Watching Over Me is a song by the band Iced Earth off their album Something Wicked This Way Comes.


End file.
